Birth of the Wolf Man

One would think the origins of a werewolf would be more biblically epic than just a feral kid being brought up by stink wolves. (So did they make him go to his den after back barking?) But that’s the base premise of Legend of the Werewolf (1975), a well-intentioned although semi-meaninful pile of wet fur of a horror movie.

A traveling circus circa 19th Century happens across the ankle/throat biter on the side of the road and decides to make him their featured attraction as the “Wolf Boy.” And since he’s under age, they don’t have to pay him. But they do have to give him a name: Etoile. I don’t know how to pronounce that. Regardless, it translates as “Star.” I like Etoile better.

As Ety grows up, he kills circus employees when the moon is full. This expectedly gets him fired. Amazingly/ironically, the young man finds a job as a zoo keeper in Paris. And you know what’s next to the zoo? A brothel! Monkeys and hookers – Etoile just hit the jackpot.

Though he’s only known the life of showbiz, Etoile is naive in the ways of the world, and falls in love with Christine, one of the prostitutes, or “talonneurs.” Good thing: Etoile doesn’t know what Christine does for a living. Bad thing: Etoile finds out what Christine does for a living.

After witnessing Christine working the night shift, Etoile goes crazy jealous mad under the full moon and rips her client to dead shreds. This is not a good business model for Christine’s public service job, who also rebuffs his marriage proposal.

Meanwhile, a forensic surgeon examining Etoile’s road kill, puts together enough clues to land the tantrum prone wolf man in the dog house with the law.

Eventually cornered towards the end of one hour and twenty-six minutes, Etoile gets his bestiality on and turns into a white werewolf instead of the preferred dark brown or black variety. It’s here Etoile is shot right in the underground sewer by police officers with prominent facial hair. I find that to be tragically ironic.

It should be noted that Etoile can speak human while in wolf form, and seems repentant for his hairy behavior. A bullet to the back is his accepted apology. Only thing left Christine to do is clock in, change into her work clothes and get back to laying down on the job.

Non-Horror Horror

In the bus change-budgeted indie horror Feeding Grounds (2006), pot-smoking slackers hook up with some chicks and go driving in several cars out into the desert on their way to party in a cabin. Along the way they open mouth smooch and talk dirty. Only thing missing is breath mints/toothpaste.

Each of these stoners have serious anger/social and substance abuse issues, all of which are complicated by something stalking them, making them even more violently unsociable, and turning their bodies into death chunks, or “chunks of death.”

Their cars don’t work. Their cell phones don’t work. Their ability to get along under stress doesn’t work. This movie doesn’t work. Whatever is stalking them is never shown. Nor are the killings.

What’s left? A lot of emo whining, emo swearing and emo dying. And how dare they show two hot desert lesbians (in the confusing intro) and no women sandwich making? I’m visibly outraged.

Hey, Godzilla – Go To Hell

Over the decades Godzilla has bumped uglies with every foe’ker possible (with the exception of the Jesus). On March 1, 2016, G-Man is facing off with the world’s biggest collection of wrongness, with the release of the graphic novel mini-series, Godzilla In Hell (IDW Publishing).

The concept is open mouth drool-worthy, what with – as the press release tells me/us/you — “Godzilla meeting his greatest adversary of all time: the impossible tortures of Hell!” Here’s how this particular slice of genius sets up…

“In each issue of Godzilla In Hell special mini-series will see Godzilla enter a new level of the Underworld to do battle with the impossible by a variety of today’s best writers and artists.”

It’s safe to say that his new monster enemies won’t be of the rubber-suited variety, seeing as Hell’s temperature gauge is set at a comfy 183 Fahrenheit, two degrees higher than the point rubber melts. (It’s also a safe bet he won’t be going up against Plastic Man, either.)

Seems to me I heard tell of Godzilla in Hell back in the early settler days of July, 2015. A few clicks here and there brought me to IDWpublishing.com, where they have the 32-page comic ($3.99) posted as being “out of stock.” To further the madness, WikiZilla™ has this to say about that: “Godzilla In Hell #5 is the last issue of Godzilla In Hell. It was released on November 18th, 2015.”

The press release says March 1st, 2016, but everybody else says “been there done that.” So is the new one a compilation released under one cover? Are they re-issuing the issues? Are they gonna pick up where #5 left off? Are the previous publications a fig newton of my imagination? I’m all f’d up about it. Either way, someone on the internet is a liar.

But hey, any day with Godzilla in it is a good day. Unless you live in downtown Japan.

Ultra Dead

While not a movie, this particular TV episode of 1966’s Ultra Man was unique in that our building tall hero dies while trying to save the world from extraterrestrial-filled flying saucers. That, and it’s black and white (all of his shows were in color) and dubbed into Castilian (think Gomez Addams) and televised in Argentina in the ’70s. Also, the characters are Japanese. The only word that sums this up is WTF?

Quick history lesson: Ultraman is part of a race of galaxy guardians from the M78 Nebula, or Land of Light. (They probably don’t need light bulbs or flashlights.) These guys have awesome powers and promote peace across the Universe. Good luck with that – the citizens of Uranus are a bunch of a-holes/b-holes.

So a fleet of UFOs invade our personal space, blowing up fighter jets with destructo beams. One lands, pops its top, and a giant balloon inflates. Once it ka-BOOMS, there stands an equal-in-Ultraman height bug-esque alien creature that uses beams to blast our real estate and his foe.

Ultraman arrives seemingly out of nowhere and does battle with the alien butt wad. But wait, the wad creature is resistant to Ultraman’s tricks of the trade and throws it back at him two-fold. How embarrassing is that?

As Ultraman is rendered inert and falls face first like a stiff surfboard, he goes into a death dream where he’s fighting Godzilla and some other weirdo monster, and beating the scales off them. Happy trails, Ultraman.

Then, out of the freakin’ sky, another Ultraman coming to claim the carcass of his fellow countryman. Planking in mid-air, this Ultraman spins super fast and uses the giant meteor/space ship to suck up the remains of the dying Ultraman. (He’s been alive for 20,000 years, so no regrests – it was a good run.)

There are other Ultramen in this meteor office space and, after a few choice words in Castilian, transports the corpse off to the Land of Light while the Science Patrol wave and yell goodbye: “Ootra Mon – Sayonara!”

Dry your eyes, for there are entire Nebuli full of replacement parts.

Ice Bugs – Heat ’n Eat

Deep Freeze (2003), also known as Chillers. Also known as Ice Crawlers. Also known as Crapsicle. No matter how many times they change the title, it’s still double lame sci-fi with no original thought given to script, dialogue, acting or special monster effects designed to make you forget all of the above.

A group of grad students are flown to the Antarctica (dumb name – there are no ants there) to figure out why the oil-drilling sub-station is experiencing earthquakes.

One bright chick student with “Welcome to McDonald’s drive-thru—may I take your order?” written all over her post-college face insists the entire continental plate is being compromised due to one five-foot drill bit. What we know that everyone else doesn’t is that a creature (or creatures) is making the whole place do the big pee shiver.

Mix in a frozen plot to blow up the place because they didn’t find any oil. The plan is to blame it on the inexperienced college students so that the corporation funding this train wreck can collect the insurance and bring back an over-sized Trilobite (prehistoric bed bug) to market as the “archaeological find of the Century.” Meanwhile, not one but two Trilobites skitter undetected around the outpost, eating people.

By the time this is figured out, most everyone has been chowed upon. Just when you think it can’t get any worse…it does. Up from the depths comes Momma Trilobite, roughly the size of three or four igloos stacked crookedly on top of each other.

Mom doesn’t do anything except screech and wiggle her limbs. This buys the token foreign guy just enough time to set the explosive charge and turn everyone into Trilo-bites (heh).

Oh, sure – the bomb shut down the station, but it couldn’t shut off my TV.

Bowling For Brains

In the grind-y gore gala Gutterballs (2008), two rival groups of swear-languaging teens battle each other on the after-hours bowling alley lanes for bragging rights. One hot chick, apparently allergic to underwear, gets violently violated by the guys on the other team, using their private parts and a bowling pin to prove their bowling skills.

Despite the brutally graphic encounter, everyone shows up the next night for a re-match. Team members include various sluts and a she-male. But in-between record-setting times for using the “F” word, everyone wanders off to have explicit sex with each other. This is done on the romantic bowling alley bathroom floor and anywhere else pants/panties can be liberated.

But someone – wearing a bowling bag for a mask and carrying sharpened bowling pins on a belt – is out for revenge. Two are forced to choke to death on each other’s genitals. (There’s a joke in there somewhere.) Another gets his face sheared off in the bowling ball polisher. And yet another gets the pointed end of bowling pin shoved up his alley.

Each time someone is killed, a strike shows up on the scoreboard. That’s pretty darn funny. A sicko-but-coolio twist towards the end picks up any plot spares left standing.

Gutterballs’ brake-less violence and wet gore is quite impressive for a low-budget flick, if you can get past the female/male rape-with-a-bowling pin scenes. For some reason, a guy getting a bowling ball dropped on his face didn’t bother me as much. I must be getting desensitized to America’s favorite past time.

When A Man Loves A Vermin

A cult of man-hating, half-naked (or half-dressed) chicks go around slaughtering guys who are stinky and who treat women like unsanitary napkins.

After being captured by said warriorettes, Bram Stroker, uh, Stoker, is imprisoned and soon to be ritualistically executed – by hungry rats controlled by the Queen of Vermin (Adrienne Barbeau). Because her boobs are so big, she controls the pestilent furballs with ease.

Bram convinces the queen that he could ride along with them and document their escapades, and possibly get it made into a library book. Off they go, raiding convenience stores (or, “whore houses” as they were called back in the 1800s), saving young women from being debauched.

One of the cult grrls falls for Bram and does it with him on the dungeon floor. This makes one of the other cult grrls mad, and all tampon hell breaks loose.

The appropriately titled Burial of the Rats (1995) is loaded with rats, blood, gore, swords, boobs, bare bottoms, and loin-tingling excitement. (Fun fact: I auditioned for the role of Bram Stoker but didn’t get it. Rats.)

Old Testament Horror

The horribly disfigured Dr. Anton Phibes was three things before that car crash back in 1921. (He was racing to the hospital to be by his wife’s side who died to death on the operating table before Phibes could get there.) 1. He was an expert in theology, the study of God and religious gunk. 2. He was an expert in music, and even built a robo-band in his secret hideaway to accompany his piped organ. 3. He was a master of revenge, setting ingenious traps inspired by the Old Testament’s ten plagues of Egypt on the doctors who failed to keep his gorgeous wife from freshness expiring. It’s clear who Jigsaw’s mentor is.

Even though he was presumed dead, Phibes somehow managed to survive and has plotted his plot every since. He can’t talk as he drank a fiery gasoline cocktail that fried his larynx. But he can stick a plug into his neck that runs into an speaker to converse through his damaged yapper. Clearly, Tom Waits has a mentor.

Phibes also has a hottie assistant named Vulnavia who is mute, the best kind of assistant to have. They conspire to track down the physicians and exact vengeance in the corresponding ten plagues, which includes – but is not limited to – bats, frogs, locusts and…dripping acid. I’m not up on bible stuff, but if Moses used acid on the Pharaoh, that would totally kick scripture.

One by one the doctors are luridly discharged from life, while Phibes celebrates by blow-torching wax head likenesses of his victims. His robo-band – Dr. Phibes’ Clockwork Wizards (cool name; I’d buy their album) – provides a nice big band jazz-y soundtrack. But all of this is forming clues as apparent to Scotland Yard’s Inspector Trout. (Insert your own joke here.)

Phibes, though, is saving the best death for Dr. Vesalius, the head physician who preceded over Victoria’s failed surgery. Capturing Vesalius’ son, Phibes straps the boy to a surgical table in the basement of his mega-mansion, with a coiled tube full of skin-melting acid making it’s way towards the boy’s unhappy face. Vesalius is called to the trap and has six minutes to surgically extract a key from the unconscious boy’s torso, which will unlock the locks holding him to the table. (You may recall this similar scene employed in 2004’s Saw.)

While Vesalius is operating and sweating like an Old testament pig, Phibes, through his robo-throat, confesses what this is all about. His ultimate goal is to seal himself in a coffin that holds his wife’s preserved body in a shiny pajama robe, and descend under the floor of his mega-mansion while Vulnavia destroys the Clockwork Wizards. (She need not bother; music critics already did that, calling their music “stiff and lifeless.” Ouch.)

The Abominable Dr. Phibes (1971) is great black horror comedy, raising the bar on revenge and giving an homage nod to The Phantom of the Opera (1925). Better yet, I hear the unspeaking Vulnavia is single – mute button included.

Pyro Python

When the sun farts, the earth smells it, and gives us a taste of what it had for breakfast, oh, about a billion years ago. It takes eight minutes for the light and heat of the sun to reach our beaches. But through the magic of television, it gets here in eight seconds.

But it isn’t heat the sun just instant messaged us with – it’s a fired-up life-form that’s seeking fuel (i.e., snacks) to stoke the burning flames of hunger within. (Excellent fire metaphor – swish!)

The flame entity can get inside your body and use it to do cool stuff like shoot heat flames out of the owners’ eyeballs and burn people in half, which it does. It can also go up poles and along wires, and occasionally take the form of a dragon with a mouth and teeth. What fire needs with teeth, I’m not sure; I’ll study the sun later by staring at it intently for an hour for clues.

The government knows about these fire creatures and once caught one ’ol hot heads. Speaking of, the head Fed thinks its a divination from the bible (Leviticus 10:1), and is trying to help it fulfill its prophecy, which is to cook everything on high.

Dutch, a retired firefighter, has been stalking the entity for decades, every since it burnt up his chick girlfriend. That made him really hot under the collar. (Dutch is played by Randy Mantooth, who starred in the ’70s TV series, Emergency, where he was a fireman. This is how he got the part, because he had previous experience with flames.)

A modern firefighter is coached by Mantooth (again, darn cool name) after his best friend died from a flame-y explosion caused by the Fire Serpent. Then there’s a hot chick Federal agent whose hot on the trail of everyone.

The title creature in Fire Serpent (2007) looks like flatulence after you light it. The acting, while not terribly painful to watch, is serviceable. The story line seemed over complicated, but a nice departure from all the brain-dead crap I normally watch. Forgettable sci-fi, but it was cool to see Sir Mantooth back in action.

Frankenstein Created Bikers

Frankenstein Created Bikers. Great movie title. Better still is the trailer for this “coming soon” (sometime in 2016) grindhouse offering: boobies, gore, explosions, tattoos, bikers with tattoos, guns, monsters, and some smacko foot to the face MMA action. Only thing missing is me!

Here’s what’s on the movie’s highway to Hell…

“A resurrected outlaw biker finds himself addicted to the substance that brought him back from the grave. In order to get his daily fix, his gang is forced to do the bidding of two sadistic scientists attempting to capture a biological mutation and perform a human head transplant on kidnapped teenagers.”

“When his disgruntled ex-girlfriend is released from prison, she embarks on an explosive manhunt for her former lover and his strung-out pack of degenerates. With three dysfunctional bounty hunters, a rival motorcycle gang and an army of machine-gun toting strippers, it becomes a race against law-enforcement for bragging rights to the gang leader’s demise.”

Says the back-from-the-dead biker: “There is no hope…no God…no salvation here. Only pain.” Sounds like he just described my last hard drinking night.

Monsters on motorcycles is not a new concept. One must only turn back the pages of time to 1971 when the world was given the gift of Werewolves on Wheels. That one had boobies, blood rituals, black robed monks, satanic rituals, booze, and bikers who thumbed their beards at road safety. Only thing missing was me!